#Battleaxe Warriors

[starcaverns]

Amira Melies

A 17 year old drow/tiefling (Mostly drow). She is my backup character for my current pc: Veriaso Melies.

If you couldn't tell they are sisters. She is a 5th level totem warrior barbarian. Also, the bear cloak is meant to look screw up. She did the "taxidermy" herself, its meant to be so scary that it just intimidates her opponents.

If Veriaso ever dies (And its Curse of Strahd so 50% she dies. Though Veriaso is the healer, so maybe not) then Amira will become the next pc.

If you have any questions please ask! (No spoilers for Curse of Strahd please)

[nemtheanga]

I don’t have a tall blond dumbass (affectionate) to romance in Veilguard so you best bet that my Rook is gonna be a biggest dumbest blond Thedas has ever seen.

Grimnir, Rook to his friends (pretty much everyone), is always down for three things: a good drink, a good story, and a good fight. A Warden for the last 9 years, his cheerfulness is only sometimes a cover for some of the shit he’s seen. With the kind of face that people sorta just like to talk to, he’s usually the one that scouts in taverns and markets looking for information. Which is probably how he met Varric. Varric would be catnip to this man. Rook would take one look at him across a bar and decide on the spot this dude was his new best friend.

Harding he’d adore, probably more like a sibling but lbr all bets are off with this game, and Taash would delight him to no end given some of the wild shit she must have gotten up to.

I can see him finding Neve a bit too serious to start with until he gets into the swing of her personality, whilst he’s probably run into a few Crows and takes Lucanis’ single-minded work ethic in his stride, probably giving him some good natured needling from out of dagger range. Once he’s comfortable with them, and them with him, he wouldn’t think twice about tossing them over his shoulder to get them to stop working so hard.

Emmrich would be a bit intimidating at first but Rook’s endlessly curious about all sorts so he’s a good audience for well-intentioned infodumping and Manfred would just be the coolest thing in the world once he gets over the surprise of a walking skeleton that isn’t trying to kill him. Bellara would be the same—he’ll happily sit and clean his weapons or take notes for her as she pokes and prods at some new device or artefact they’d found.

Davrin would be a Buddy on sight. Sure, no small part of it is to do with the sense of Duty and Purpose amongst Wardens but they both have a love of adventure and revel in the thrill of a hunt. Rook’s got an unserious edge to him and I could see his tendency to deal with things through humour grating sometimes but they’re mostly coming at the same thing from two different angles.

I have no idea who he’d romance, like, I could see the potential in everyone. I’m leaning towards Lucanis at the moment because they fit the black cat/golden retriever vibe and I am absolutely consumed with the idea of Lucanis, finally exhausted enough to let his guard down, falling asleep on this absolute mountain of a man who now won’t move for several hours because holy shit.

Ultimately, though, someone like Varric is gonna know that you gotta set a trickster to catch a trickster and, as the resident Trickster Guy, I am gonna have so much fucking fun with Rook.

[hcollazo2000]

Conan inspired by Rob de la Torre. Inks on paper

[dadsoncrafts]

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[heroineimages]

Stumbled back across this and reblogging because I'm still charmed by the idea of a semi-historical about a Byzantine empress with her own bodyguard of Varangian shieldmaiden girlfriends.

by baccheuo

[juniepops]

orc northernlion: "So the other day I took my daughter out to her first warband. Yessir, she's gettin' to be about that age. And the dwarven family from her daycare were out too. Tell me why--" [points his finger directly into the webcam] "Tell me why every single dwarven warrior uses a battleaxe. It's not stereotyping, I've observed that it's true basically ninety to a hundred percent of the time. Maybe if some of you clerics and bards in chat ever went on warband you'd observe the realities of the world around you too. Stop virtue signaling."

elf northernlion: day 8912 of playing sort your salad to proceed in silent contemplation

[mothgirlpanties]

@barbarian-lesbian

To be the royal advisor to the princess as your barbarian army takes the castle...

To be forced to watch as my liegelady is paraded before your conquering army, wearing naught but her crown and jewelry, before coming to kneel before the woman who took her throne. Your legs spread wide, throbbing womanhood glistening with battle-sweat- my princess sways for a moment, overtaken by the scent...

She eventually returns to herself, and hesitantly plants a kiss at the base of your shaft. It is followed by another, then a tentative lick.

Her minstrations are... clumsy at best, and your amusement slowly fades into boredom.

My heart clenches in fear for my lady, and I find within me the resolve to step forward, hands deftly unbuttoning my coat.

Your warriors move to stop me, but hesitate as I toss aside my jacket and begin on my shirt. I stride past them and approach the dais, shucking what remained of my outerwear.

You reach for the battleaxe that rests against what is now your throne, but make no further moves as I kick off my shoes and ascend the steps. I am unashamed in my nudity, for I refuse any dignity that my liegelady is denied. I fall into a low bow, her crest dangling before my chest as I approach the throne.

"Apologies for the intrusion," I simper, "but I am sworn to aid the princess in all her endeavors."

I come to a stop and kneel beside my liegelady; to her right and a half-pace behind, exactly where I belong.

Your scent is intoxicating, even from here, but I have a duty to uphold. I take a moment to gaze into my princess' eyes, musk-drunk and lustful as they are. "I am with you, my lady," I whisper to her. I place a loving hand on the back of her head, and gently push her down onto your cock.

[cheesesandwichsanto]

He knew …

Summary: Reader and Sihtric met in Dunholm after Uhtred’s banishment from Wessex

Pairing: Sihtric x f!reader

Warnings: none

Word Count: ~800

Please have mercy, it is my first story. If you enjoy the story; likes, reblogs and comments are really appreciated 🖤

Proof-read by my friend @witchezandwonderz 🖤

Click here for Part II

Click here for Part III

Masterlist

He knew that she was a Dane, and that she belonged to Bloodhair’s people.

He knew she was a fierce and brave warrior, having seen her sparring.

He knew she was the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on, as he admired her from afar—wearing her leather armour that hugged her figure perfectly, her battleaxe hanging at her hip, and her long braided hair.

He knew she was watching him from across the inner courtyard of Dunholm, where he sat on a bench with his three friends.

He knew she was close with Brida. He saw her whisper something in her ear that made her smile, before locking eyes with him again. He felt his face turn bright red.

He knew they were talking about him.

Then she stood, walking to the middle of the courtyard before stopping and watching Sihtric closely.

He knew he was not the only one who noticed, as Finan mumbled to him, “Sihtric, I think she wants you to follow her…”

He knew she was up to something when she nodded in the direction she wanted him to follow. He walked behind her through the corridors, asking a few times where they were heading, but never received an answer.

She stopped in front of a wooden door, opened it and gestured for Sihtric to enter.

„I‘ve noticed you since the day you arrived here, Sihtric“ she said, tracing his jawline with her tattoed finger. Her voice was as sweet as honey in his ears. He gulped.

„How do you know my name?“ he asked.

„I know a lot of things… I am y/n by the way“ she smiled.

„What do you want from me?“ he asked further. „What I want? I want you Sihtric…“ she said, before steping closer and kissing him softly.

He knew he was falling for her, and it was over for him. Her voice, her eyes, - she was just too much to handle. He was falling for her charm, and she knew it.

He knew, when he kissed her and made love to her in that tiny, dimly lit chamber, that it was a mistake.

He knew he had his loyal wife waiting in Wessex for his return.

But how could it be a mistake, when he felt nothing but love?

He knew that after the few times they had met in secret, he had to put an end to it.

But every time, he fell for her again and again. He simply could not resist.

He loved looking into her eyes, he loved her messy braided ponytail after they made love, the feeling of her smooth skin beneath his fingertips and when she looked up at him and smiled.

He knew, when he arrived at the Great Hall that evening-the one that was supposed to be his last in Dunholm-that something was off.

The atmosphere between his Lord and Sigurd Bloodhair was tense. Bloodhair ranted about how Uhtred was still Alfred’s dog, even after being banned, that he was not truly one of them, and how Skade was still his woman. Enraged, Bloodhair stood to go after Uhtred.

What Sihtric saw, and did not like, was Y/N trying to hold Bloodhair back, whispering, “Father, don’t.”

But it was not quiet enough. He heard it.

He felt stupid. He had thought she was just a woman, just one of his shieldmaidens—but being the (now) enemy’s daughter was something else entirely.

He just stood there, feeling nothing but guilt.

In those moments with her, he had forgotten about his wife, and that there was never a possible future with Bloodhair‘s daughter.

His heart slowly fell apart.

That night, as he lay awake, he thought about the short time he had spent with her in Dunholm and how he had even considered leaving his wife for her before he found out whose daughter she was.

The next day arrived quickly.

The fight between Lord Uhtred and Sigurd Bloodhair was about to begin. She could never understand why her father would do anything for that witch Skade when it was clear that Skade did not want to be with him but rather with Lord Uhtred. She could not bear to watch them fight, too afraid to see her dear father possibly die.

After Ragnar intervened, telling Uhtred to take Skade and leave, they all packed their belongings onto their horses, ready to ride out to rescue the little princess.

She stood at the front when Lord Uhtred and his fellowship set out for their journey.

Sihtric and she locked eyes, staring for a long while before he turned away and rode off. Completely oblivious to the way she placed a hand on her still flat belly…

[persephoneggsy]

Phryne Ingellvar Banter

writing full fics is still kind of exhausting to me, so I've taken to writing fake banters for my Mourn Watch Rook, Phryne Ingellvar. Most of them are with Emmrich, because he's her romance, but maybe I'll eventually expand on her relationships with the other members of the Veilguard. A lot of this is mostly bits and bobs from Phryne's backstory.

*

[During Emmrich's recruitment quest, as they’re traversing through the Necropolis]

Emmrich: Surely we’ve crossed paths before, Rook? It seems bizarre that we’ve both been Watchers for so long and never interacted. I swear the name Ingellvar sounds familiar…

Phryne: Well, I mostly did grunt work. Escorts for trainees entering the Necropolis for the first time, protecting mourners visiting the graves. That sort of thing. Probably not what you spent most of your time doing.

Emmrich: Ah, I see. Still…

Phryne: Though we have met before.

Emmrich: Oh? I’m sorry, I can’t recall…

Phryne: Don’t worry about it, Professor. It was almost a decade ago, and it was brief.

Emmrich: Well, you remembered. I hope I made a good first impression, at least?

Phryne: I don’t think you’re capable of leaving a bad one, from what I’ve seen so far.

Harding: Um, sorry to interrupt, but can we maybe focus on the horde of despair demons charging at us right now?

Phryne & Emmrich: Spirits!

Harding: Whatever!

*

[When Phryne goes to see how Emmrich is settling in]

Emmrich: When did we meet, Rook? It’s been driving me mad.

Phryne: Oh, alright. It was at a funeral. My son’s. You administered his final rites and prepared his body for burial.

Emmrich: Oh! Of course. I remember now.

Phryne: Really? It was so long ago, and I’m sure you’ve performed dozens of final rites over the years. I wouldn’t be upset if you couldn’t recall…

Emmrich: Not many Nevarrans left to join the Inquisition. It was seen as a primarily “southern” concern, despite the danger it posed to all of Thedas. I remember thinking that young Rothe Ingellvar must have been a fine young man, to give his life for such a cause. 

Phryne: He was. 

Emmrich: I’m sure I said it back then, but my condolences, Rook. 

Phryne: Thank you, Emmrich. 

*

Emmrich: I’ve been wondering something, Rook. If you don’t mind a personal question. 

Phryne: Ask away. 

Emmrich: We’ve been in the Mourn Watch for almost the same number of years. You’re an incredible warrior, a natural born leader, and every other Watcher I’ve asked has nothing but wonderful things to say about you. 

Phryne: Aw. Thanks. But… what’s the question?

Emmrich: By all accounts, you should be extremely high up in the ranks. But by your own admission, you’re just “a grunt.” Why haven’t you been promoted?

Phryne: Ah. Well. They tried, at first. But I joined the Watch after I had my kids, so they were my priority. Promotions meant more responsibility, more responsibility meant more time away from them. And then, after rejecting promotions for years, they finally stopped trying. Happily been a grunt ever since. 

Emmrich: I suppose I can understand that. But wouldn’t a promotion also mean more money with which to support your family?

Phryne: My mother left me with her estate when she passed. We were always comfortable. I just wanted as much time with my kids as possible. 

Emmrich: That’s very admirable. 

Phryne: Really? Mother always said my lack of ambition was my fatal flaw. 

Emmrich: I think love for one’s family outweighs that. 

*

Emmrich: The Battleaxe!

Phryne: Sorry?

Emmrich: Your surname, Ingellvar — it’s been nagging at me, but I finally remember where I’ve heard it before! Your mother was Prudence Ingellvar, the Battleaxe!

Phryne: Oh! (Laughs) I forgot they used to call her that. Yeah, that was my mother. You knew her?

Emmrich: I’m afraid I never had the good fortune, but I knew her reputation. A staunch traditionalist, to be sure, but such exemplary understanding of anatomy and theory! Her essay on both magical and mundane methods of preserving vital organs was quite innovative!

Phryne: Oh, she would’ve adored you. 

*

[After revisiting the Necropolis for the first time and speaking with Myrna and Vorgoth]

Emmrich: Phryne?

Phryne: Yes?

Emmrich: Just making sure I heard correctly. Back at the Necropolis, Myrna called you ‘Phryne’ rather than ‘Rook’. Is that your given name?

Phryne: Oh, it is. Rook is a… recent nickname. Varric started calling me that after we met. Something about chess pieces.

Emmrich: What would you prefer to be called?

Phryne: Rook is probably easier. No one could ever pronounce Phryne right when I was younger. The number of times I was called ‘Frine’ or ‘Fern’...

Emmrich: (laughs) A shame. It’s a lovely name.

Phryne: Well. I like it when you say it.

Emmrich: Very well. Phryne.

*

[During their first date]

Phryne: This is one of the more romantic dates I’ve been on. 

Emmrich: How wonderful! I was afraid I’d lost my touch. Between work and research and teaching Manfred, there hasn’t been time lately for company. 

Phryne: I know what you mean. 

Emmrich: Do you?

Phryne: Well, I spent the last year or so hunting down Solas. Not a lot of time for courting. And even before that, I’d… sort of given up on romance. 

Emmrich: Oh. May I ask why?

Phryne: Dating’s hard with kids. I always had someone willing to look after them if I had plans for the evening, but a lot of the time, people were put off by the fact that I even had children. Or the kids would hate them for whatever reason. Or things would work out for a while before fizzling out. So I stopped focusing on relationships and just focused on… the physical side of things. 

Emmrich: I see…

Phryne: Does that… bother you? My ‘experience’? I know some people find it unladylike. 

Emmrich: My dear, I would never hold your past against you. I’m only marveling at my good fortune, to be the one to show you how a proper courtship works. 

Phryne: Ooh. Bold words, Volkarin. Are you sure you have the skills to back up that confidence?

Emmrich: You’re not the only one with experience, darling. 

*

[After Harding asking about whether Emmrich is a noble]

Harding: So you’re really not nobility? Volkarin just sounds so… fancy. 

Emmrich: It’s a commoner’s name. My father was a butcher and my mother was a cook. If you want to speak to Nevarran nobility, you could always ask Rook. 

Harding: (laughs) Right. 

Emmrich: …

Harding: … Wait, really? Rook is a noble?

Phryne: You don’t need to sound so surprised. 

Harding: It’s just… you don’t really act like…

Phryne: To my mother’s chagrin, I know. But in my defense, I was adopted. 

Emmrich: Oh, truly? I hadn’t known that. 

Phryne: Mother and a few of our undead found me in an abandoned crypt when I was just an infant. She took me in, raised me as her own. 

Emmrich: How sweet! I’d heard one of our own was a cryptling, I had no idea it was you!

Harding: … You were found in a tomb? As a baby?

Emmrich: That isn’t so unusual in Nevarra. Many Watchers see them as an omen!

Phryne: Whether I was a good or bad omen depended on if I took a nap that day. According to my mother. 

Harding: … Nevarrans are so weird. 

[seeminglyunconcious]

Doused in Scarlet

Three times Lukey admired how the blood hang onto Pangi and the battle skill he showed, and the one time they made a promise with it.

Yes, this is the obligatory Pangkey fic where Lukey's freak is unleashed.

TW: blood, gore, implied-self harm (indirect)

Read online or down below!

White wasn’t Lukey’s favorite color. No, it was merely the backdrop and canvas for the pigment of blood– that perfect sanguine scarlet. It stands out boldly against a blank space and dries into an aged bronze reminiscent of kingdoms’ past. Only on such a medium would the color bloom, unrestrained and full of vitality.

Or so he thought, until he watched those perfect paints stain and hang onto Pangi’s body. Each drop clinging onto orange scales, dying them a deep crimson akin to those red sunsets the dockworkers and sailors used to wax about. Lukey could barely hold himself back at the time, almost spilling the burgundy wine onto his white tux; a rather unforgivable mistake if it were to happen.

He watched, invisible and clenching the glass with bloodless knuckles, as the object of his admiration danced in the chaos. A netherite battleaxe in one hand, the crossbow in the other, the green faction shield strapped to his arm like a buckler, with the focused look of a predator finding a den of prey. Around him, mortal ichor bloomed like ribbons in celebration for masquerade, marking everyone unabashedly… but none of them could compare to the centerpiece doused in it.

Unfortunately, to Lukey’s disappointment, the party itself left the main stage opting for more private rooms that weren’t suited for his private perusal, not to mention he had his own duplicitous role to play at the time. A lamb in stark white, in a lab devoid of anything but marble and slate.

Back then his hunger was satiated… the mad scientist quelled, an artist satisfied.

Up until Pangi came back, he was awestruck. There he stood in his armour, gashes and scorched areas masked its surface, but what Lukey focused on was the person beneath.

His hair matted with dark drops, mixed with ash and sweat. His clothes beneath the armor practically stuck to his body, outlining muscles and scales as if carved from stone. And what made Lukey’s heart flutter, how adequately he was dressed in a thin scarlet veil that wasn’t his— as for who’s it was, did it matter?

“Honey, I’m home!”

A cheesy grin grew on his face as he leapt towards his warrior. Something in him awoke then.

-----

The next time Lukey found himself zoning out from the calls of bloodlust and chaos was a game that the Keepers had put together: the Outworlders against a small plane of strangers. He wasn’t originally teamed with Pangi then, but Fate had other plans.

It took some time, getting some blood on his own hands to his dismay. Lukey liked the color, not the mess that came with it. He disliked how it usually came with screams, calls for mercy, and the odd bits and bobs from where the paint originated. Once perhaps, he was more dexterous and skilled in handling the blade to draw beautifully with the crimson ink, but none of those memories were engraved into his muscles making the task a burden.

Whilst within the crannies of the Netherworld, he found his warrior and another. They didn’t require much of Lukey’s assistance, but Pangi made requests that made his presence welcome and Derapchu was kind enough to not say anything about it.

He mostly strayed behind them, in an attempt to subtly watch Pangi hunt in a way so exciting to him. He was gnawing at the idea of perhaps asking the other boy to chase him one day in full attempt to take him down… but kept quiet because at the time they had found a small community. These strangers huddled in huts, scared, with the one warrior among them falling to Pangi with a few quick strokes.

Lukey admired his technique with the blade. It was clean and efficient, none of the mess that usually came about with his own handling. He wanted to experience it- no, not that… Lukey just wanted to learn it, to be guided and be the extension of Pangi’s own arms. For if he can’t fight side by side with him, he might as well be the tools he uses to hunt.

In a daze he wandered into one of the huts to participate in the slaughter, unsure whether it was his intention to help or to quiet the ever vocal voices in his head. Lukey wore a faux smile as he apologized, butchering the poor soul that hadn’t gotten the memo of their raid. The room became a mess, they became a mixture of sludge, barely admirable to stomach. He was about to add the finishing touch, igniting the damn thing up till a commotion disrupted his half-dazed ritual.

“Lukey, watch out!” There was a shout and before he knew it, a rush of orange and diamond came barreling through the door, crushing the paste he was… transforming. Another stranger was on the floor, struggling on their last breaths, before the spear embedded into their chest was twisted—

SHCK!

And a bloodied hand pulled it out with a spray of red from the wound. Pangi stood up from his kneeling position, examining the items on the strangers with an indifference that made Lukey’s heart do somersaults. 

“You should’ve been more careful man. That guy was sneaking around. I mean I don’t doubt you couldn’t have defended yourself, but you were kinda just standing there.”

“Heh, thanks dude. I was… was sorting my inventory. They actually have some good stuff, if you want anything.”

“It’s not that good, but you should hurry up. I think we’re going to try to find the stronghold soon.” Pangi gave him a quick once over and patted his shoulder with a sigh of relief, leaving a bloody print of his palms. He’d treasure this cloak forever.

Unfortunately, that small massacre was all the good memory the scientist had of that fever dream of an event. He didn’t recall much after since he had perished sometime near the end, quite unwillingly. Lukey remembered he almost dragged his soul back into his obliterated body before a Keeper shoved him into a spectator vessel.

He then watched his beloved warrior perform that focused dance again. His heart jumped here and there when the flying beast managed to clip him with its tail throwing him up. It still of course ended in their victory, to Lukey’s delight. There was something different about watching Pangi celebrate after such a focused hunt. He enjoyed it too.

-----

Then there was the duel between Pangi and Aimsey. Looking back at it, this day, Lukey almost lost his composure. There was so much stimulation and Pangi… oh, Pangi. The dunce might have as well proposed to him then.

Lukey was enjoying the preparations for the duel. Being the extension of a seasoned warrior tends to make you somewhat expectant of their own changes with you around. As an experienced chemist, he used his strengths to brew potions that could add some excitement to the fight and of course to help his corner. Faintly in his mind, Lukey could see a visage of himself aiding the scaled warrior in combat as if a ghost.

The preparation help was supposed to be his way of showing which side he stood on; unfortunately, Lukey had a hunch the dummy didn’t consider his acts the equivalent to verbal support. His verbal claims of support towards his cousin were just that, a means to pressure the pangolin into a focused state. But how would one explain such a feeling towards the one you admire? In Lukey’s case you don’t.

By the time it was the duel, he was once again lost in the battle of wills raging inside him. Lukey could feel it, that unrestrained desire to go down there himself and attempt to draw blood… but held it back. Not yet… not yet… This was not his stage.

He admired them both, Pangi and Aimsey. Each a distinguished warrior in their own right, having a battle style that suited their personalities, and the means to perform executions on the fly. 

Pangi was precise— loving detailed persistent plans to deliver a decisive blow. For those that didn’t know his personality, they would find themselves entangled in various situations that would only hinder them as the battle continued. His execution method varied, but Lukey on more than one occasion has felt the wrath of all his weaponry… fatal and otherwise. A smile crept to his lips at some miscellaneous memories.

Aimsey on the other hand was purely instinctual. Lukey wasn’t sure whether or not it was related to his necromancer teachings, being able to discern a living soul and one unbound, but coupled with a bow— he had to admit, he’d never seen a better shot. On multiple occasions he’d seen him take apart small skirmishes alone. They were also quite handy with a battleaxe, as they were the one to personally deliver the final blows to the wardens they hunted before.

As Lukey predicted, it was like seeing two distinct dances on the field. One a deliberate waltz with careful steps, never missing a beat, going with the highs and lows of the situation with precision. The other a tango, wild and free, switching between weapons and tactics as if on whim. He loved how beautiful such a confrontation could be, where the blood that was shed, almost deliberate. If Lukey didn’t know this was a duel, he’d almost think this was a personal show just for him and his twisted little heart.

Even when it ended, he couldn’t hide his excitement. Luckily, armour does well in protecting and hiding some more illicit parts of the body. Pangi probably wouldn’t ever let him live it down if he’d found out.

No sooner, his beloved warrior confessed a grand design. Of chaos, of bloodshed, something that he couldn’t back out of and then a promise— to never die again. Lukey was ecstatic, twas hard not to be when Pangi was practically bleeding in all the right places and speaking words that resonated with the part of him that had been subdued for millenia. The blood had coagulated a bit now, almost like ruby dewdrops dotting pangi’s exposed scales and lacing around the skin where they didn’t grow. He was a walking masterpiece, one forged by combat in which he held nothing back.

And even later when they’d shared some more time with each other, Pangi still surprised him. Almost killing him— the rush brought about the near death experience set something free inside Lukey. 

Unabashed and yearning for a chase, Lukey took his armour off and tempted the other to strike him down. He saw the glint in his eyes, he wanted it too. They were playing a dangerous game… where the need and desire coalesced into an unknown emotion singing dangerous temptations into their ears. If they took it a step further, Lukey knew they would have shamelessly marked each other then and there.

-----

Now they stand together, hands entwined with viscous red liquid dripping to the floor. Their gift to the realm which had tortured them both equally. It was a lever; behind, a large canvas in which they shared their passion for one another in an artistic form Lukey suggested.

He was called a freak during the moment, but the lust burned through the glasses the other boy always wore. In fact, Pangi was very active in showing Lukey various techniques which gave solid and impactful results. He was the one who’d even suggested they perform a sort of blood pact in promise to each other, to which they were doing now.

“Are you ready?”

“I was always ready when you were.”

“Well then Lukey… will you take me as yours forever? Even after we destroy everything: the buildings, the memories, our homes, maybe even us.” Pangi lowered himself down to one knee, keeping their hands entwined.

“I do.” Lukey’s eyes were brilliantly reflecting the reverent warrior before him. “ And do you promise to always be by my side, no matter the occasion, to let me be your vessel, when others cannot? Be your body’s extension, when you cannot? And let me be yours, in love and in chaos?”

Lukey lowered himself down to one knee as well, equaling their gaze.

“I do.”

Their hands lowered to the lever, dousing it in scarlet, and pushed it forwards as their mouths clashed.

[dungeon-strugglers]

✨New item!✨ Battleaxe of the Relentless Warrior Weapon (battleaxe), rare (requires attunement)

This ancient battleaxe is chipped and worn from countless battles, yet it feels sturdy enough for many more. You have a +1 bonus to attack and damage rolls made with this magic weapon.

If you are reduced to 0 hit points while you are wielding this axe, you can use your reaction to immediately make one melee attack with the axe against a creature within reach before you fall unconscious. If the attack hits, you regain hit points equal to the damage dealt. Once this property occurs, it cannot occur again until the next dawn.

Has it been days, weeks, or months since the battle began? The sky chokes with smoke, and the only source of light is from fires raging out of control. Time is a distant memory.  You hack into a foe, striking it down. Before it dies, another is pushed into the open patch of mud. Not a mud of water and earth, but a crimson slurry that clings to your aching legs. This one’s wild eyes are just as tireless as yours, and it moves with adrenaline-drenched vigor. You exchange blows for an eternity before the crowd undulates, and a new foe emerges.  Beyond exhaustion, beyond pain, beyond death itself, you fight. - 🖌���� Like our work? Consider supporting us on Patreon and gain access to the hi-resolution art for almost 200 magic items (wow!), printable item cards and card packs, beautiful creature art and stat blocks, and setting pdfs with narrative hooks and unique lore!🧙‍♂️ Thank you so much for your support! 💖

📜 Credit. Art and design by us: the Dungeon Strugglers. Please credit us if you repost elsewhere.

[the-ampersand]

I just watched a video disparaging the weapon mastery rules of dnd 5.5. The main point of the complain was that if a character can change its masteries every long rest, then that's no mastery at all. There's narrative friction when you set up your character as a warrior that has mastered the ways of the halberd and, at the same time, after a good night's sleep the character suddenly can suddenly become an estoc expert.

The author correctly pointed out that's, as it is usually the case with dnd, a problem of the undefined identity of the game. Both wanting to be fantastically epic and also connecting with its old dungeoneering roots. You can just change your weapon mastery at a whim because you can get any kind of weapon from a random loot table (an element of old school games) and you want your epic blorbos to be able to use their cool toys and be as epic as possible (an element of what is now known as trad games).

I can agree with that.

BUT

After this point the author went on a tirade about how random loot tables are lazy and imply an adversarial relationship between players and gm that really left me baffled. They said these tables were a way for the gm to avoid tailoring proper loot for their players, lazily referring to a roll and a table instead of caring about what would actually be useful for the characters.

Which can be true, but if and only if you play ttrpgs in a very particular way (a very traditional way). But random loot tables can be pretty cool, I believe, for two reasons.

First, random loot tables should be tailored to a certain place and maybe even to a certain kind of enemy. If that's the case, they are awesome tools to develop a location or enemy. What you find lying around in a dungeon or being carried by its denizens can tell you a lot about the place's history and its dangers.

In a volcanic grotto infested with salamanders you find burnt stuff and a lot of salamanders eggs. You probably won't find a fiery battleaxe because why would a bunch of salamanders do that. But when you also find shiny and opalescent scales when you fell some of the salamanders you might start considering there's something else to the critters larger than usual size. You won't find a fiery sword there because why would a firebreathing lizard want one of those.

In the abandoned sack of a courier you might find an old pile of letters that you can't make much sense of. But they seem to be important and someone might be looking for one of these letters. There surely won't be a fiery sword here, but there's a love letter that looks important and written in expensive paper, you can safely assume it was from a noble.

But why should it be random? If it is an important plot point, why not just give that piece of information directly and without a roll?

Well, that brings me to my second point: random loot tables can shape the narrative. A result in a random table (loot or otherwise) can completely shift the perspective of an enemy, a room, a dungeon or a whole narrative. Those opalescent scales can be woven into some sort of magical ailment affecting the damned lizards of the grotto. But if the result was instead a heavy gold chain, now the critters may be the beloved pets of a pyromancer that has their home just a bit deeper into the volcano.

Or, what at first can appear to be a silly little trinket like the love letter you found in the courier's sack can become the way to get out of a very tense situation between your group and a small troop of soldiers that just happened to be exploring the same ruins you were. Apparently the captain only get into the army because they never got the love declaration of their paramour that you are now holding in you bag. A perfect way to make them disinterested in getting your head.

Of course all of this can also be just prewritten. But, in my opinion, one of the strenghts of ttrpgs as a medium is the emergent and collaborative storytelling. The ability of a game of being able to tell stories no one would have predicted when they sat at the table. Not even the gm behind all their notes and preparation. Gms deserve to be surprised too. Both by their players and by the module, setting and/or game they are playing. That can only happen if there's room for chance.

So, yeah. You can use the random loot tables just as inspiration for your game. Tailoring every piece of loot and every detail to tell the story you want and to make your players feel empowered in a way that fits the narrative you have set up. And that's fine.

But that's not the only way to play and certainly not the best either. And saying that a random table is lazy feels like a lack of perspective. Specially when weaving the result of a random roll into the narrative can be quite challenging but just as much rewarding.

There are philosophies of play other than that found on traditional ttrpgs and it makes me sad to see them thrown under the rug or being painted as lesser than.

[hcollazo2000]

Conan in gouache and pastels.

[fitsofgloom]

"It is written in the Book of Good & Evil, that in a time long ago, all was peace and harmony. Paradise on Earth. Then one day, the universe shifted. All was dark, and for those born on that day, their evil destiny will be sealed! Now they have united to wreak havoc on an unsuspecting world, and forevermore will be known as . . . WARRIORS!”

I've been watching this show all week and just loving it. There were several "American Gladiators" clones back in the '90s (I particularly dug "Rollergames"), 1992's "Knights & Warriors" one of the most obscure, feeling like it might just be a parody staged at Medieval Times. I regret that I completely missed it the first time around airing in syndication.

As the show proudly declares, it's medieval combat with a modern "Running Man"-style spin, and if you're an '80s Fantasy fan like I am, this is everything that you could hope for. It even opens with an Arthurian-themed legend of fallen former knights-turned-berserker/ruffians that's worthy of a video game or Saturday Morning Cartoon. Challenges involve catapults, crossbows, tug o' war, and roller joust.

Choose your favorite studded combatant among the ranks of Chaos, Princess Malice, Knightmare, Steel Maiden, Lady Battleaxe, Pyro, and Venom, my pick being Plague, who's a crossbreed of Lex Luthor and Ming The Merciless.

It's worth noting that the armor-clad actor who essays the regal Lord of Law, Order, Rules, and Discipline is Bernard Erhard, who appropriately enough lent his voice to the fantastic (and unjustly overlooked) Science Fiction/Fantasy animated series "Visionaries" about battling knights in magical holographic armor, as well as starring in the 1983 Barbarian epic "Deathstalker" as the evil wizard who stages a fabulously gory gladiator tournament. Even the castle set facade looks like the ones used in the Argentinian-lensed Sword & Sorcery movies produced by Roger Corman back in the '80s. In a better timeline, this ran for seven seasons, the tie-in action figures today gracing many the shelves.

[jhamkul]

Axe of the Grand Performer (battleaxe), Rare (requires attunement by a Barbarian)

✨Post made in collaboration with @camunonz ✨

I couldn't finish this subclass that has been so inspired by Draven without it having his famous spinning axes, so if you want your barbarian to be attacking a bit from a distance, this axe will suit that playstyle perfectly, you will be able to benefit from rage too! Forged for champions of arenas throughout the continent who are as much performers as they are warriors. This ornate, curved battleaxe made of steel shines when being thrown, trailing echoes of the crowd's roar as it slices through enemies while it spins in the air.

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Thank you very much for checking out this new creation! If you want to see more of my content, feel free to visit my Instagram, where I ask for advice, post teasers, and you can vote for my future posts.

[apollyonarts]

I feel like in remembering those who came before us we must remember the reason the trans community is still alive is with continued for the people of the past. I thought about the fact that armor is gender neutral garment (even though knighthood is associated with masculinity), it allows for gnc / trans / queer expression (historically, Joan of Arc being a rather obvious example) - A trans person feeling safer in their suit of armor rather than their clearly gendered garments - being protected literally from physical danger and metaphorically from the expectations of the world and expected to play the role of "protector" rather than "man" or "woman" and at the same time being strong enough to fight back against those who wish to hurt them. Not everyone is able to become a warrior, its up to those who can fight to help those who cant, community is the only thing we have, armies, people united are strong, separated they're weak. Support your trans community members. [Image ID: A digital illustration of a transmasculine and transfeminine in light and heavy armor respectively, both are wearing helmets emblazoned with a heart with a feather, they have the color schemes of the transmasculine flag and transfeminine flag. The transmasc is holding a giant blue sword and the transfem is holding a giant pink battleaxe in one hand and putting the other on her hip, each is wearing a pride flag (transmasc and transfem respectively) around their neck. They are situated on a light blue backround. End ID.]